As the sun kissed the horizon, Tristan faced down the towering forest. Behind him was all he ever knew. He didn’t look back, doubting his heavy heart could bear it. At the corner of his mind, Opal and Ur lingered, but he ignored them. Can’t lose my nerve. In front was the rest of the world, unknown and awaiting him. Only fools dared to face the tangled woods of Ariel, fools that no one saw again. They were a source of comfort and fear for those living within its boundary. On the one hand, the people of Ariel knew that as long as the woods stood tall, no foe would destroy them. On the other hand, there was a reason some called the forest Ariel’s Cage.

  Now, Tristan stood as one of the fools, but he had one thing the others did not. Prospero floated ahead, examining the trees. Moving around as if he were carried by the wind, Prospero whipped around, with his hand on his chin. He grunted, with a sagging of his shoulders.

  “What are you looking for?” Tristan asked.

  “The trail,” Prospero replied. “It should be here somewhere.” He did not need to explain further. Tristan knew. The Caravan’s Path. A long time ago, the wagons filled with merchants used the trail to cross the mountain range. It was Ariel’s connection to the rest of the world, but it vanished long before Tristan was born. Studying the forest, the god pulled his legs into a seated position. He leaned forward, laying his chin on his thumbs, forefingers pressed against his lips. “This is strange,” he wondered aloud. “It should be right here.”

  “That’s been gone for some time,” Tristan answered.

  “Impossible,” Prospero dismissed. “This path was supposed to remain until the end of time.” He shook his head, speaking to himself more than Tristan, “I made those terms clear in our pact.”

  “Pact?” Tristan asked.

  The god’s eyebrows furrowed, pondering if this was necessary for his mortal companion. “Every patron god knows that if their city is to survive, they have to rely on more than their own sheer strength to protect it,” he said at last. He gestured to the thick foliage weaving amongst the trees, creating a vicious barrier no man wished to cross. “An old friendship provided this protection from those that sought Ariel’s destruction.”

  We live in the middle of a mountain range, Tristan thought. Wouldn’t that be protection enough?

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  “Learn this now, young one,” the god continued. “In the realm of the Divine, it is best to remain cautious.” He floated closer to Tristan, as if he held a great secret for him. “Now that you can see into our world, you must become aware of our ways. That’s the only way you may survive.” Turning away, he floated back to the trees. “Still, this frightful snare of a forest wasn’t my intention. My people were not meant to be locked away from the world. There was a way through.”

  As the god searched for the forgotten path, Tristan remarked, “For someone to do that, they must’ve been a great friend.”

  The god paused. “She was. One of the best,” he answered, a heaviness creeping into his voice. Staring at the forest, he began to talk to himself again, “So you grew tired of the arrangement. Why would you do such a thing?” He paused and whispered, “Medeina.”

  When he spoke that name, it passed the god’s lips with more reverence than Zachariah could muster during his rituals. Tristan balked, feeling a strange swirl of emotions stirring within him. It overwhelmed him, making his chest ache as if a knife sawed a hole in his flesh. A sadness swelled up from deep that newly forming chasm. Out of the depths, panic arose. “What’s going on?” Tristan cried out, reaching for his heart. It did not alleviate the pain. Dropping to his knees, his breathing quickened. Drops of sweat broke across his brow.

  Prospero said nothing for a long time, or perhaps it was only a single, painful second. Did he care about the horrible agony wracking Tristan’s body? Without warning, the shadow fell from the god’s face. All at once, the pain subsided. Gasping, Tristan coughed. “Forgive me,” he apologized at last. His voice was distant, as if they stood on opposite sides of a street. When he turned, his voice was closer, but there was a distance between them. “I forgot the influence I have over your kind.” Shaking his head, he mused, “Why do gods long for the affection of such brittle, fragile creatures?”

  Regaining his composure, Tristan wondered if traveling with a god was in his best interest or not. He hoped that these bouts of intense pain, courtesy of the deity’s range of emotions wouldn’t happen too often. “How do you forget that you can do that to me?”

  The god didn’t answer his question. Instead, he said, “It would seem that my once unbreakable pact is now void.”

  Climbing back to his feet, Tristan’s teeth ground in irritation. His frustration abated when he noticed the concerned face on the god. For a moment, Tristan feared that another fit of agony would overtake him. To his surprised delight, nothing happened. The god continued staring at the forest with the same concern on his face. That was all he needed to know. Their situation wasn’t good. As if this day could get any worse. “So, we’re on our own.”

  The god nodded. Tristan feared what being on their own meant, but he was certain that he wouldn’t like it.